Make It Precious
by Raivis-Latvijas
Summary: They both had suffered long enough. Croatia decided to change the suffering into understanding, and possibly revive what he and Serbia had taken forgranted. SerbiaxCroatia, fluffy ending, inspired by the song "Make It Precious" by Make Me Famous.


**A/N: **Boredom + Ukrainian music = the production of a story. Simple enough, right? Eh, whatever.

This story was inspired by the song "Make it Precious" by Make Me Famous, a Ukrainian band whom is simply amazing. "Make it Precious" has two versions, the original metal version, and the acoustic version. This story was mainly inspired by the acoustic one; though I encourage you readers to listen to both!

Just a note, the words in italics are parts of the lyrics to the song talked about above. They aren't in order because I wanted to put them into here in a way that made sense.

Anyways, on to the story.

**xxx**

_Feels so hard to find the reason of love,_

_Can't take any longer,_

_You're so much stronger,_

Serbia spent his days alone in his home, just trying to get by in the world he lived in. Even after all the wars he had been through that were supposed to end all the tension in the Balkan region, he didn't leave his country for much. Malevolent words were always thrown at him, and he had no clue why. What had he ever done wrong? It was his people, his leaders, his bosses, that did all the wrong. People looked to the representation to vent their anger against though. Perhaps it was because he was to be alive for years upon years, not dying until his nation no longer existed?

He never knew; could never figure anything out. With everything that was said to him, and everything that he had gone through, only one thing weighed on his troubled mind the most. He had once been in love, and brought it upon himself to admit that he still was. It was kind of sad, actually. The man he had fallen in love with hated him due to the wars; all the anger and hate between their nations had influenced their actions, eventually leading to fights and arguments about senseless things. Nothing ever was resolved between the two, and they still had unrestrained tensions that boiled over into an argument every once in a while.

Croatia was the man, the nation, whom Serbia had once loved, whom he still loved. He remembered when Croatia had lived with him, when every moment between them was nothing but bliss, even in the most harmful situations. Croatia had been a weaker nation than Serbia at the time they had resided with eachother, and Serbia had unknowingly taken advantage of that. Or at least, that's what he thought he did wrong to earn the Croatian's hatred.

But now things were different. Croatia was unbelievably secure and strong, having built himself up after falling so hard for someone he thought he could trust; for Serbia. Serbia had tried so hard to keep things together, not just with Croatia, but with everyone whom he had been in Yugoslavia with. He used the wrong methods though; he chose to lie, to blatantly lie to their faces that nothing was going wrong within the Union. Croatia had argued with him over this lying many a time, and had done some very irrational things because of it. Arguments had turned to further violence; a brawl or two that ultimately led to a claim of independence.

Serbia failed to hold onto the strings that were fraying oh so quickly, and Yugoslavia fell apart. He fell into a severe depression; not just in his nation's economy, but in a personal, mental way as well. His drinking and smoking increased, and he neglected to care for himself. His insomnia worsened, to the point of agonizing nights where he would have almost schizophrenic episodes. He had been suffering from migraines far before his depression, but they became more frequent and more painful with the added stress of his seemingly eternal despondency.

_Since I've been dreaming of a sign from above,_

_Don't get any better,_

_Nothing does matter,_

Serbia always wondered if there would ever be some kind of signal for him; that things would start to get better instead of stay the same as they had for years. He had pleaded silently to anything that existed above, but it seemed that all hope was lost and forgotten; as if Serbia didn't exist on the map of the world. His mind was already lost enough; he figured his only confidence would come from something that wasn't certainly there. He didn't know what to believe, whom to trust, what to day or do, or even what he was to become for the next few years.

Sometimes, he thought, he wished he could have just disappeared like the Roman Empire had, or fall out of existence like Prussia; but alas, his wishes never came true. He felt, now that he had lost nearly everything of importance to him, there was really no reason for him to be in presence any longer. Some may have called him suicidal, but after living for hundreds of years, wouldn't you get tired of all the wars and all the blood that ended up on your hands? As well, nations couldn't just kill themselves as simply as humans could. A nation's throat could be slit; he could bleed for hours and hours, but he would not die. His people would have to become that of another nation, and the name of the lost nation would have to only exist in history books.

Serbia had grown very tired of living the life of a nation; he pondered how old nations like China did it. Serbia himself had only existed for a few hundred years, but to live for thousands? He could not possibly think of a way to deal with all the regrets and all the pain. Then again, Serbia was not the wisest of nations. He had done so much wrong without even realizing it. Perhaps, someday in the future, he would understand how nations like China coped.

_I'll give my life to make you never forget,_

_Who the hell you wanted to make me,_

_I'm better than you could be,_

Croatia spent his days surrounded by his people, visiting landmarks and spots where his liked and equally disliked memories lurked. He was a social man, trustworthy and level-headed the majority of the time. He was known by faces outside of his namesake nation as well, being talkative and conscious of people in surrounding nations. His charming smile and friendly nature helped him out with keeping himself strong and confident; he would need it, being a nation.

Being the representation of an entire country led him to do a lot of thinking, to do a lot of pondering about the future and the past as well. He knew that he wouldn't be who he was without the past, and the future would probably change him further than what he currently was. He knew he couldn't control any of that change, but he specifically remembered when someone did try to change who he was by force.

Serbia had been the one to attempt to make Croatia a devoted Socialist, and failed miserably when the angered Croatian found out about it all and fled; albeit painfully. He had loved Serbia. Loved him with all his heart; they had been married even. But within an amount time, Croatia became knowledgeable of what Serbia had been lying to him about. Their love was not a lie; it was everything but a hoax, but everything else was. The security, the calmness; everything. Croatia, with all his anger and hate that had brewed inside of him, left Serbia. He knew that he was better than that; he knew he could not allow himself to be used to spread an Empire.

_Oh darling, make me believe,_

_That I could ever give it back,_

_Just turn my back and leave,_

Croatia often read books of his nation's history just to see where the wrong turns were made, even though he already knew them. He had a hard time believing that humans could cause so much chaos, but when he remember how he had once loved Serbia, he knew it was true. All his anger wasn't directed exactly towards Serbia, but the other man's people. It just overflowed and he let it out on the representation.

He knew Serbia still loved him. Every time he caught a glimpse of the man, he knew that the Serbian's everlasting melancholic demeanor was caused by the lack of love returned. Believe it or not, Croatia wanted to give back all the love, he wanted to return the feelings once again, return the care that Serbia had once given. He couldn't say that he wanted nothing to do with the other representation, but to be honest; he couldn't say that he wanted to confront him either. He was afraid of retaliation in a negative way; he was scared to lose the other any further.

That's why he turned his back and kept his mouth shut. He was so apprehensive, and he regretted it. His regret didn't change the fact that he couldn't bring himself to talk to the Serbian face to face about what they had once shared though. Perhaps his hesitation would prevent another war; perhaps it would stop his heart from breaking again. During the Croatian War of Independence, it hurt him so bad to be fighting with Serbia. He hid behind a mask of hate though, and pushed through the pain to independence. It was true, his independence made him happy, but he didn't feel right without the comforting arms of Serbia there to embrace him.

_Let me see, see your dreams,_

_And just let me touch your heart again,_

_On the street where my beliefs,_

_Never caused you no pain,_

Croatia never had been an extremely daring man; taking risks just wasn't in his nature. But in his heart, he knew he had to do this, he had to admit his pain to Serbia. It was an early hour in the morning, and the Croatian representation found himself walking up a few flights of stairs in his same old tan suit he was known for wearing. He had always known where Serbia lived; the exact address never left his memory.

As he reached the door, he pondered whether or not he should knock. He knew the other man would be awake, but Serbia never locked his door. Should he just walk right in? He stood there for a few moments, knowing each action he took could make or break both of their recoveries from the pain they had both endured for years. Finally, after much thought, he brought his hand up and knocked on the door. He figured being polite would be a lot safer than being direct.

After a few moments, Serbia answered the door, looking to be in terrible condition. There were dark circles around his dull green eyes, his face unshaven, and hair unkempt. Not to mention the Serbian was only dressed from the waist down.

"… Croatia…?" The Serbian muttered, expression turned to that of confusion.

"… I'm sorry to bother you at such a time like this but… We need to talk." Croatia informed quietly. Serbia, after a few moments, allowed him into the apartment. Croatia walked in and shut the door behind him, soon finding himself sitting at one end of the small kitchen table. Serbia had left for a moment to retrieve a shirt, and returned to sit on the opposite side.

"… It's really not a problem for you to come here this early in the morning… I don't sleep often." The worn-looking Serbian said.

"I can tell… You look like you haven't slept in weeks." Croatia responded.

"That's the truth… So what did you come here to speak of?"

"… Things are still very tense between us… I feel the need to admit that I'm feeling pain because of it…"

"You aren't the only one… I've been feeling the agony of our hatred since years before we separated."

"Our people… Our people are the ones who influenced us to do and say such things as we did. Why did we listen to them…?"

"Because they are our people. They are of us… We couldn't just ignore those whom we represent…"

"True… But did we have to hate eachother because of how much our people hated eachother?"

"I believe it was unnecessary… But… We did it anyways… It took its toll on the both of us. I lied to keep us together, but it just made things worse… A lot of our arguments and fights were instigated by my untruthfulness…"

"But it isn't your entire fault… I was always the one to confront you and accuse you of things you couldn't control."

"Half the things you accused me of were true, though."

"But it was stupid of me to just blatantly bring it out in the open in such a hostile way… Serbia, I never meant to hurt you. Ever."

"You had every reason to."

"But I loved you. I knew I was wrong to be so argumentative."

"I loved you as well, and that's why it hurt so bad to have to fight almost every day with you."

"You know what…? I'm just going to admit it here and now…"

"Admit what?"

"Novak, I still love you. I want you back."

"… Andelko… Those are words I never thought I'd hear…"

"I speak the truth… Novak, I'm suffering, being alone like this. Please, tell me you understand these words I speak."

"I do far more than just understand them… Andelko, I accept them… Mainly because I still love you too. I've wanted to say it for years, but I have been so hesitant…"

"I have been the same way… I have been afraid that things would turn out bad; that you would no longer feel the way you did."

"Well now you know that I still do."

"… Novak... Could we possibly start again?"

Croatia watched as a small smile formed upon Serbia's tired-looking face.

"If that is what you want." The Serbian representation replied. Croatia couldn't help but return a smile. He reached forward, almost cautiously, and gently grabbed Serbia's hand.

"You should try to rest, Novak." He said, softly rubbing the scarred knuckles of the other man with his thumb.

"I suppose… Will you come back when it's daytime?" Serbia questioned.

"Of course."

The two stood and Croatia headed to the door. Serbia followed, grabbing the slightly taller man's hands and looking him in the eyes.

"Let's not have anyone know of this until we are sure things will be okay between us." He said.

"Alright… I love you, Novak." Croatia replied.

"Likewise… I love you too."

The two smiled at eachother for a moment before they leaned in, a light kiss shared between the representations. It had been brief, but it meant everything to them both.

Their love had been revived, and made more precious than ever.

_Always so sure,_

_That you can climb the sky,_

_Settle down your mind,_

_And never ever die._


End file.
